Sammy Get Your Gun
by coffee-stained lips
Summary: A picnic goes haywire and the gang is wrapped up in a dark government situation. They must defeat an enemy bent on destroying Earth's most sacred monuments in an evil ploy to rule Earth. Secrets, betrayal, love, death, and action is all here. ON HIATUS
1. Chapter 1

**I'd like to dedicate this fiction to two amazing FanFic writers: first is PsychoticAppleSauce. I haven't read more than two chapters of one story by her but scrolling through her choices inspired me to make one of my own. All of them have unique flairs to them: werewolves, zombies, army, kidnappers, etc. They're so cool. And the second is Evil Beware We Have Waffles. Her unique flair story—**_**The Quiet Scream**_**—is one I've stuck with for awhile and it's worth it. You should go read both of their stories. Thank you. Also, my brother thought the idea was too good for a FanFic so I'm making an original character version that may soon find its way on FictionPress. If you aren't a Seddie fan or something like that there might be a regular version for you to read.**

_5:12 A.M. New York City, NY, U.S.A_

Gunshots resounded throughout the street. The man shouted to his comrades to spread out as to catch the boy. Their guns cocked, they fanned out along the alleyway between the two towering skyscrapers. Staring coldly into the dark stretch before them, they awaited some movement. The young boy, nimble as a gymnast, moved slowly up the fence to escape the men. They didn't notice the culprit was escaping right under their noses. He thanked his all-black clothing for being able to be hidden as he sat on the top of the fence. Still the men's eyes roved all over in desperate want for movement that they didn't even see him. Smiling to himself, he extracted the gun from his pocket and aimed it at the closest man.

"Bye-bye, buddy." he whispered, and pulled the trigger. It hit the man right in the chest with a loud pop. He screamed as the pain processed and fell to the ground, writhing. The blood flowed from the wound, dribbling onto the icy, damp pavement. He wasn't afraid of the blood being there tomorrow for he knew citizens of the city would just assume it was an unfortunate gang fight. If they only knew it was much, _much_ more serious than that.

The others began firing blindly at the spot where he was instead of tending to their injured comrade—it's a dog-eat-dog situation here and if you get shot, then you better learn to heal real fast. The boy dodged the bullets like an acrobat, flexing his body in ways unthinkable. Once the bullets ceased for a half-second, he let out a cackle and jumped over to the other side where he sprinted far away from the sight.

He ran past the people walking down the street and the cars whizzing by. He kept moving farther away from the gun-toting chaps until he found himself in the center of Times Square. Broadway musical posters stared back at him as lights flashed and blinked. He smirked, running in between one of the buildings where he whipped out his walkie-talkie.

"Agent 008 here." he said into the box, "I've lost them. No injuries…at least, on me. Over." Static from the walkie-talkie echoed into the alley.

"Don't get cocky, Agent 008." said the husky voice of an elder man, "Arrogance is step one in getting murdered out there."

"Okay, okay!" the boy said, chuckling, "I'll stop being 'cocky' once I lose a gunfight." He could practically see the man sighing and running his temples at his teenage confidence.

"Well, you _are_ one of our best agents." he said, "Anyway, you have it?" The boy patted his gun-free pocket where a lump rested—his prize.

"You bet, sir." he said.

"Good. We'll be waiting, Agent 008. Over." Again the static sounded and the conversation ended. With a smirk he attached the walkie-talkie to his belt and agilely left the scene.

He knew he was an arrogant stinker but why shouldn't he be? He was very flexible, the master of disguise, and could kill a guy five feet away with any weapon. His talents had originated at birth from being born to an agent and being trained since childhood to be the boy he was today. It was his destiny to defeat all the enemy agents singlehandedly. He knew, however, that his fame may be short-lived; if they ever found her, she'd be the one they revered and fawned over all because of her blood. If he ever met her, he'd make sure he was still number one, no matter what it cost. He wasn't about to let some girl with no experience top him in the eyes of the agency. He _was_ the best. Forever and always. Through blood and death, he'd be the best killer they ever had.

Playing with the loaded gun in his hand, he stared mercilessly at the brick wall before him. He could see his boss handing over everything he had worked for to the girl just because of who she was. It would happen if he didn't do anything. In a fit of jealous rage he aimed for the girl's head and shot, only to remember he was staring a wall, not an actual person. But in his head he had hit her dead-on and the proud smirk on his face revealed that. No way would she beat _him_.

No. Frickin'. Way.

**I do hope you all enjoy this short first chapter. The next one will be up soon. I don't want to update right after because I want to see what the recption will be like. If it's good, I'll continue. Please review if you like it so I know this isn't a total waste.**


	2. Chapter 2

_10:34 A.M. Seattle, WA, U.S.A_

It all started like an average day.

Spencer tried to pick up the heavy cooler filled with Peppy Colas, Fat Cakes, and different meats courtesy of Sam. Freddie sat atop the car's front, doing inventory on the many things they were bringing to the park. Besides the cooler Sam insisted on taking assorted sports equipment, and Carly on bringing several fashion magazines and a radio with David Archuleta CDs. He didn't want to bring anything other than food for their picnic. It was rare that a day would roll around in Seattle perfect for picnicking. As you know, Washington isn't the driest state. When Freddie saw the beautifully clear sky, his first instinct was to alert the group. They all decided a picnic would be a splendid idea, especially since it involved eating—Sam would be happy.

As he scribbled down the last title of Carly's limitless magazines, Freddie made out a black shadow overcoming him. He looked to his left to find Sam sitting beside him, her dirty-blonde curls dancing round her face. He couldn't deny Sam was a pretty girl despite her constant attacks on him. She was still his friend with or without her nasty nature…for the most part. She wasn't as comforting or nice a friend as Carly but that's just who she was; who was he to change her?

"Done categorizing your style mags?" she mocked, raising a devious eyebrow. Freddie emitted a sigh like he did daily. He no longer fought with her about her insults; instead he shrugged them off, only rolling his eyes or sighing.

"I refuse to dignify that with a response." he said, scooting off the car hood. Sam hopped off too, and followed the boy to the back end of the car where Spencer was still trying to pick up the cooler. You'd think he'd be stronger at his age but, no, he'd never been the Hulk. Freddie handed Sam the notepad, rubbed his calloused hands together, and grabbed the other end of the blue cooler. With his added strength they were able to hoist it up and lay it in the trunk. Beads of sweat had begun to show on Spencer's face but he rubbed them away as he let out a strangled breath.

"Thanks, Freddo," he said, "but, uh, I coulda done that on my own." The girls giggled while Freddie merely smirked at Spence's denial.

"Sure, sure." he replied, turning to enter the car. Carly and Sam followed suit, Carly nabbing shotgun afore the demon. Freddie knew Sam wanted the passenger seat to escape being near him for an entire ride. As stated earlier, they weren't _best_ friends; more like acquaintances.

Knowing defeat, Sam climbed in next to Freddie but deliberately ignored him by gazing out the window. Freddie just smirked and looked out his own window at the passing buildings and people. Carly began rambling about the interesting things she discovered in her copy of _Teen Vogue_ without realizing no one cared. Freddie kept his muddy brown eyes glued to the outside world. Several different forms of humans were seen: dog walkers, joggers, mothers pushing baby strollers, couples hand in hand. All your run of the mill parties.

However, as the car drove near the Seattle Space Needle, Freddie noticed the throng of passersby was different than usual. They weren't overbearing tourists with cameras and brochures; instead, they were all normal Seattle-goers, but they were all crowded around in disarray.

"Hey…hey, hey, stop!" Freddie stammered. Spencer impulsively stepped on the brake, and the car jerked to a rough stop. Freddie flung his door open and ran over to the pack of onlookers. He was so enraptured by the horrific sight that he could barely hear Sam, Spencer, and Carly following: all the citizens—young and old alike—were screaming and pushing past others to get away. Craning his neck to look, he saw men and women in black suits with cords wrapped around their ears (probably a cordless communication device). They were shouting for the horde to move away but in a calm, organized manner which they were most certainly not doing. A few of the black suits ran up to the mob and led them away to an area in the nearby park. Onlookers in said park (the one where they were going to picnic in) were trying to see what the H-E-Double-Toothpicks was happening over there. As the mass scuttled past Freddie and the rest, they shouted to them "Get down, you dumb kids! Get _down_!" They started to move down when a sudden blast came from the Space Needle. A yellowish-red cloud puffed up from the top while bits of metal and glass flew every which way. Carly screeched but it was covered by chokes as the smoke entered her open mouth. Sam did not scream but instead threw herself onto Freddie to cover herself from the flying debris. Freddie wrapped his arms round her and hid his face in her hair. They all stayed low to the ground for a long time (hours might've passed) before Freddie braved lifting his head.

The Space Needle that had stretched six hundred and five feet in the air was now a pile of rubbish with billowing smoke and small flames. Those in black suits were stamping out the tiny fires and talking on their Bluetooths. His heart sank at the sight of the charred rubble of what had been a sacred American monument. Now, in only a few seconds, it was gone. He could scarcely breathe at the depressing view. He turned his head to look behind him: the swarm was standing and sitting on the grass, staring dumbly at the ruins. Others were weeping, men too. The suits that had guided them away did talked amongst themselves in what appeared to be hushed tones.

"Guys, it's over," Freddie whispered to his clan, "get up." Spencer raised his head first, and his face fell much like Freddie's had. Carly was third to look up; her face was red and her eyes teary. Seeing the refuse didn't help and she started sobbing again. Sam was last to look up but her reaction was no different.

"Oh, God…" she murmured. Freddie nodded at her sentence sadly. They all rose to their feet, Carly shakier than the rest, and continued to look at the poor sight. Freddie and Spencer's arms were still around the girls but neither shrugged one off, not even Sam.

One of the black suits saw their raggedy bunch, and waved over another. The two spoke quietly as they stared at them; one shook his head whilst the other nodded his determinedly. Eventually the first stopped arguing and they both approached the group.

"Hello." the first said. Carly yelped and Spencer rubbed her back in reassurance, but she didn't look any less scared. Sam did the complete opposite of her best friend: she straightened her stance, broke away from the boy holding her, and put a hand on her hip. The second man smirked amusedly through his goatee but Freddie knew he wouldn't be smirking any longer if he angered Sam—she was a fighting machine, what with all her martial arts and boxing lessons at a young age.

"May we ask your names?" the second asked, holding out a beefy hand. Spencer stepped forward past the teens, putting on the expression of a responsible adult. He took the man's hand and shook it—compared to the black suit, Spencer's hand bore a resemblance to a five-year-old's.

"Spencer Shay." said Spencer, "This is my sister Carly, and her buddies Freddie Benson and Sam Puckett." Upon hearing Sam's name, the men glanced at each other as though they'd been waiting to hear it. Their looks alarmed Freddie; if two men in black suits with dark sunglasses and Bluetooths who had appeared right after an explosion wanted Sam, it couldn't be a good thing.

"I'm Lorenzo." the first, a heavily tanned man with a powerful muscular build, said, "This is my comrade, Peter." The second, Peter, was a fairer-skinned man but his physique was no less burly than Lorenzo's. Both of them had to have trained long and hard to obtain such well-built bodies. And, if their outfits were any clue, they had to have trained for a particular job.

"If you all will," Peter said, waving his hand behind him, "we'd like you to come with us." Sam stepped forward, looking at the man with a distrustful glower.

"Where are we going, Peter, _if_ that's your real name?" she spat. Peter again smirked but didn't say anything down to her.

"We are going to go somewhere important," he told her, "and maybe it is." A chill crawled up Freddie's spine at the last words. Sam gave her own smirk at "Peter". Freddie could almost hear her thinking _He's not half bad._

Sam started following the black suits until Freddie's hand grabbed hers. His expression was scared and astounded. "Sam," he whispered, "we can't just go with them! They could be assassins, or something worse—"

"Freddork, I've been in trouble with the government before." she said, too casually for his tastes. "So I know what's up. But you have to do whatever I say, got that, you pansy?" Albeit being referred to as a pansy insulted him, he knew Sam was right: she was wiser than the rest of them and if she trusted these guys, it was smart to just do as she did.

Although reluctant, they followed the two men past the mound of metal. A few sleek black cars were parked in the street. Lorenzo and Peter (or whoever they really were) went to one of them and pulled the doors open. Sam and Carly entered first and then Spencer and Freddie. Sam got stuck sitting next to Freddie again but this time she showed no disgust.

Lorenzo put his foot on the gas, and the car drove away from the sad rubble mound. The way the men drove off without looking back seemed so blasé and it stunned Freddie a little; they seemed unconcerned that someone had just exploded the Space Needle, one of America's most revered monuments. He was more stunned, though, by that it _had_ exploded and now black suits were taking them somewhere they didn't know. The urge to jump out of the car right then came over Freddie but he needed to remain calm for the rest of them. Besides, these men were most likely government officials so they'd never hurt innocent Americans, especially three so young.

After what felt like a weeklong ride, the black vehicle parked in front of a tall building. It looked like any work building with glossy windows and flowerbeds of many colors and an exquisite fountain in front. Lorenzo and Peter got out of their seats and began approaching the front doors, expecting the group to follow. Freddie went to open the door when a hand flew to his shoulder to stop him. He almost screamed from the stress he was already under but it was only Sam. She leaned her head close to his and put her mouth near his ear.

"Stay cool, Freddifer." she whispered, not even letting the fact that two strange men had taken them to a workplace stop her from awarding him a nickname, "If this chiz gets messy, stand back while I handle it." Freddie purely nodded, knowing Sam knew better than him about this kind of junk. She moved her head away and he went to open the door again. The four stepped out and ran up to the men, who had stopped walking.

"Be faster, kids." Peter warned, "You never know who might pop up." He then turned along with Lorenzo and they went to enter the building.

"It's like they expect Chuckie to come running." Freddie joked in an attempt to lighten the mood. No one laughed, not even him. Chuckie sounded like a Care Bear compared to who they might face in that building.

Inside there were no dead bodies strewn across the ground or attack dogs nipping at their heels—it still looked like a normal workplace with a receptionist at the desk and offices around her with an elevator set to go up twenty floors. The men walked up to the woman typing at her computer. She looked up from the screen and smiled a bright white smile.

"Good afternoon, Lorenzo. Peter." she greeted, nodding to each man at his name, "What can I do for you?"

"Don't worry, they're with us." Lorenzo whispered to her. Her green eyes looked around his bulky build at them. Carly waved pitifully.

"I see." she said. Then, very quickly, her hands went into a desk drawer and whipped out an item that resembled a credit card. Peter took it, nodded as thanks, and they walked away towards the elevator. He waved for them to follow, which they did hastily, Sam in the lead.

Freddie's feet went for the elevator but neither man's did; instead they moved down a narrow hallway with more offices. Freddie saw Sam's eyes dart back and forth between each of the doors, probably calculating possible escape routes. Boy, was he glad she was on his side.

The men stopped at one door with a blank gold plaque at the top. Freddie found this peculiar for every other door had the same plaque but with a name carved in. _It must be a newly built office,_ Freddie thought but in the back of his mind he didn't believe that.

Peter opened the wooden door slowly; they expected to find a regular office's furniture, but the group was surprised to see it was completely empty. There was no desk, computer, lamp, or anything. Not even a window. Freddie and Carly suddenly obtained claustrophobia at being in this closeted room but Sam looked unaware of the irregularity of the setting.

Lorenzo squatted down and brought the card down to the floor. Freddie at first thought he was crazy until he saw the card slide right through the linoleum. His jaw dropped along with his three other pals as the floor began flashing a red color. After seven flashes of red (he knew because Sam was whispering the number under her breath), the floor became a solid green. Lorenzo hopped back up just as the green square moved away to reveal a hole. They bent over to see it was a bottomless pit of black underneath. Freddie didn't want to hop down there anytime soon.

Lorenzo jumped down into the square hole first. Freddie strained to hear a crash but it never came. This scared him even more than if he had heard one. Peter gestured for them to go before him—none of them did. All stayed rooted to the spot until Sam groaned and stepped forward.

"Sam, no!" Carly cried but the blonde went down anyway. The brunette bit down on her lower lip, trying to keep from crying again. Freddie again tried to hear a crash of body hitting ground but again it never came.

Carly ran into the hole after a few seconds of painful silence. She, unlike Sam and Lorenzo, screamed all the way down, her voice getting softer 'til it dispersed. Freddie looked to Spencer, fear in his eyes. Alas, he did not try to escape the fate of going down the teeny hole; instead he embraced it, by being the next to go.

Dark was the only suitable word to describe what it was like to go down. The wind rushed past him upward as he fell, billowing his shirt up to reveal his stomach. His breathing quickened as the adrenaline wore off from jumping in. Now he repeated within his head how stupid he was and that he would surely tumble to his death. This feeling of impending doom ripped a scream from his throat, which caused the air to be let out of him when he hit solid ground.

"Ah, my back…" he mumbled, shuddering as his body laid on icy-cold floor. Was this death? The feeling of cold under your body before you were sent either up or down? He was certain he was dead when the glowing face of an angel appeared over his. Her blonde ringlets hung over her face and a dazzling halo shaped the top of her head. She was beautiful…but soon he found she was no angel.

"Get up, ya' crybaby." Sam said, grabbing his hand and yanking him upwards into a sitting position. Freddie shook his head, blinking away the dizziness that had overcome him. _How could I think Sam was an angel?_ he thought, rising to his feet while holding a palm to his lower back, _She's the total opposite—a devil._ He surveyed his surroundings after adjusting to the low lighting: as far as the eye could see were white hallways. It was hard to make them out because the only source of light came from above. Freddie felt like he swallowed a foot with the imminent danger that was no doubt coming for them. A girlish shriek from above shook him out of his frightened trance long enough to leap out of the way before Spencer landed not-so-gracefully on the ground.

"_Mother of mercy, that smarts!_" the man yelled, along with moans of pain as he rolled around on the floor. Freddie saw Sam roll her eyes before she did the same to Spencer what she did to him. Soon he was standing, clutching his back like Freddie had (only he complained much more than the boy). Peter came down soon after, landing perfectly on his feet. Spencer stared at him in astonishment but looked away when Peter glared at him.

"Follow us, quickly now." Lorenzo said, walking in a fast style down one hall. The gang ran to catch up with him while Peter went to the rear. Carly's hands went in her brother's and Freddie's. Freddie felt compelled to take Sam's hand too but he wasn't up to dying…at least not by her if these black suits weren't to be trusted.

At the end of the corridor was a steel door with an array of buttons. Lorenzo entered some sort of code in one and scanned his eyeball in another. After the green light scanning his iris stopped, a robotic female voice said "Please enter, Agent 689."

"I see where 'Lorenzo' would be catchier." Sam joked, and Freddie laughed, a little too loud and shaky. The door swung ajar to reveal a dark room with a few white lights, but not enough to expose what (or who) was inside. Sam looked back at her posse, her eyes lasting on Freddie. Before they entered, Sam took his hand.

"Ladies first." Lorenzo said, waving to the room. Sam pulled Freddie and the others into the dimly lit room where their future resided.


	3. Chapter 3

_10:38 A.M. Seattle, WA, U.S.A_

The foursome entered the dimly lit room with caution. Inside they were able to make out the objects decorating it: there was a long metal table stretching from one end of the room to the other. No windows were in this room either, and the only light source was the iridescent white light fixtures from above. Sam tensed at the darkness of the room; it could conceal somebody from her vision if they were to stand far enough back. That way they could jump out unexpectedly. She'd make sure they stood against a wall.

Lorenzo and Peter shuffled in and shut the door behind them with a clang. Freddie gripped her hand tighter at the noise and she had to repress calling him a name of some sort. There'd be enough time to poke fun at him when they were safe and sound away from this mysterious building..._if_ they ever were.

The men sat them at the end of the table—Sam at the very end with Freddie and Carly on her sides and Spencer beside Carly. They twiddled their thumbs nervously while Sam remained motionless and unemotional. These suits could without doubt sense fear and if they so much as batted an eye in front of them, their guard would be down and they might attack. The people could be harmless policemen for all she knew but if she believed that without proof, it'd be a good way to get murdered.

A chair shrilled from the opposite end of the room. The group looked over to where a man was rising from his seat. _Just as I thought,_ Sam thought. The dimness had covered him from their view like she had suspected it would. There could be fifty more people secluded in there, shielded from the eyes of the strangers.

As he stood, they processed his appearance: his hair was a curly blonde and his skin a crispy tan, the result of a much more powerful sun than Seattle's. Piercing blue orbs were two on his face and stubble dotted his chin where a wry smile was placed. A grayish-blue suit was his outfit, complete with an open shirt under. He was much skinnier than those who brought the gang here. No muscles bulged from beneath his sleeves. That didn't mean he wasn't capable of taking down three teens and a less than muscular middle-aged man.

"Good afternoon." he said; his voice was gruff. "I'm confident you don't know why I've brought you all here." Not one of them moved but Freddie could see Sam evaluating the male before them with vision parallel to a hawk's. The man felt Sam's eyes boring into him, and his own cerulean-colored irises stared back with power.

"Why don't you explain to me what happened out there?" he asked, sitting back down in his chair, one leg relaxing over the other. Freddie's gaze met with each of his companions: Carly was shaking uncontrollably, Sam was blank of emotion, and Spencer—who had become suddenly mature—nodded. Freddie knew he meant for him to tell the man what they'd experienced. He took a deep breath and faced the man sitting, who gazed back with the eyes like a kind he recognized all too well.

"Well…" he said, "We were going picnicking when I told him to stop the car…all these people were running and they told us to get down so we did and….this…this explosion happened..." The man straightened at the word, and he glared at Peter and Lorenzo. Freddie was thankful the eyes were off him; he'd begun to believe they could see into his soul.

"Then, it happened very fast," Freddie continued, "We were huddled into the car, and driven here, and…well, here we are." The man bobbed his head, still not returning his stare unto the boy. It was evident he was thinking deeply about the words he'd just heard. Apparently his comrades hadn't alerted him of the appalling sequence that had occurred moments ago, something Freddie couldn't understand. It led him to believe they were frightened of this man and he found he was scooting nearer to Sam for protection.

The man gave a sigh that was a borderline snarl and retracted his eyes from the others. He took a hand and rubbed it over his forehead, mumbling unintelligible words with spite. Freddie gulped his nerves down as the rest stared in frozen shock at the adult, terror and mistrust in their expressions. They knew the explosion was serious but the way he so openly expressed it was made it seem so much more horrific—like if they were to not discuss it, it wouldn't have been real.

Taking his palm off his face, he peered up at the group. His icy-blue eyes sent another chill up their spines after them disappearing for a bit. Slowly he rose from his chair, looking days older, and stared solemnly back at the pale faces. Traces of sorrow and fatigue were spotted in the wrinkles on his forehead and under his eyeballs. Lorenzo and Peter's hands were together on their stomachs but were sliding near their sides where their weapons were waiting to be triggered.

The blonde man walked over from his seat to them. After a deep breath, he spoke: "I understand this has come as a shock. But we cannot let you go, especially…" His blue eyes traveled onto those of Sam's, who froze on the spot. There was something in his pupils, something unknown. They were pained with a trace of thanks and compassion. He knew something about her. Somehow she felt a connection to him too but she wasn't about to grill him relentlessly until an answer was put forth, even if she had the desire to ask.

"You all have become a part of this," he continued, not finishing his other sentence, "Whether you like it or not, we need your help. Everything will be explained soon. Lorenzo!" He turned away to the men, who were standing at attention. "Take them away. You'll go with the boy. Peter, with the girl. And, uh…Don—you go with the man. The rest of you clear out while I talk to the other." It seemed to happen quite quickly as Lorenzo, Peter, and a redheaded—but not any less built—Don carried Freddie, Spencer, and Carly away out the door; they peeked over their shoulders at her, shaking somewhat as they were lead away. The rest of the suited people left so that Sam was the sole occupant to the room with the man. Instinctively her hands clenched and her feet untangled from their crossed positioning. One hand inched near to her pocket, where she too kept a weapon. She never used it for evil, though; it was an emergency weapon, in case someone jumped her in the night and sometimes when she needed to pick a lock in secret. If Carly or Freddie knew of it, they'd be more determined about therapy.

His footsteps echoed across the dark room, annoying little taps every other second. His eyes were on the floor and his teeth were biting at his lip. You could feel the tension radiating off of him with a pulsating power. Sam's nerves were on edge as well but when it came to the flight or fight response, it was clear which a Puckett would chose.

"I'm sure you weren't expecting to end up here." whispered the man, facing her. She shrugged coolly, making him smile in an almost proud way, something confusing. He sat beside her in one of the metallic chairs and she could feel her legs loosen for her to get away when ready. "Please don't be afraid," he continued, stretching an arm out to her. She didn't take his hand or move any nearer; instead she went on with her cold, indifferent stare. His eyes were pleading with her, asking her to listen to him. She would want nothing better than to punch him in that fat nose of his—hopefully she'd get her chance in the end.

"I really didn't want this to be how you met me," he said, shaking his head. "I mean, I knew I wouldn't be greeted with balloons and cheers but I was hoping you wouldn't hate—or distrust—me from the start."

"Who're you and what do you want from us?" Sam spat, finally breaking her silence. She was sick of his beating around the bush; they were in a frickin' underground conference room, for crying out loud. She wanted an answer out of him and wanted it then so she could assess the situation and get the heck out. He licked his lips, the tension becoming fiercer, and folded his palms.

"I don't want you," he said, "but I need you. Sam, it's very impor—"

"Whoa, hold it, margarine-head." she said, squeezing her eyelids shut, "How do you know my name?" His pupils sparkled ominously.

"I know things about you, Samantha Joy Puckett, not even you could know." he said. A chill went up Sam's back and she was hundred-percent done. All she wanted that day was to eat a ham sandwich, torment Freddie, and fall asleep on the plaid picnic blanket. The fact she was in a meeting room amidst a creep with gelled hair after a supposed bomb attack as an alternative, if truth be told, ticked her off _bad_. She stood up from her seat, glaring with the angry force of an army of hating men.

"Get away from me, you lunatic!" she shouted, "I didn't want any of this crud! Stop stalking us and let us be! I promise you, on my mother's life, that I will slit your neck if you take one step near me!" The man too stood but he didn't take a step closer, probably because he knew it wasn't a bluff. However, his eyes did stab at hers with passionate fury resembling her own.

"This circumstance is a grave one, Sam." he said, "You're dubious—understandable. But you can't just throw a temper tantrum and run out." Sam's face flushed at this accusation and her fists shook heatedly, a strong sign she was about to deliver a right-hook.

"You can't accuse me like that!" she yelled, "I was dragged here against my will with no information about what the heck just happened, so I have every right to throw a tantrum! But I must say if you think _this_ is bad, you ain't seen anything yet, buddy! And where do you get off saying you know things about me? You're a frickin' weirdo with a mental issue who's interested in terrifying kids!" The man didn't reply to her so the sudden quiet following her flare-up was unsettling. For awhile he just stared straight back at Sam, unmoving. His chest heaved up and down continuously, his heart beating fast. She could sense the impatience he had and that he was holding back for whatever reason. Excruciatingly silent minutes passed 'til his mouth moved to form words.

"If I frightened you, I apologize." he mumbled, "It _is_ terrifying, this that's happening. I also understand your caginess towards me but you have to learn I'm not some madcap man with a chainsaw. I'm someone you can trust, Sam. I'm Vincent Highlander and I was married to Pamela Puckett."

A train crashing into her face would've been less shocking than this.

Her mother had had numerous boyfriends in her forty years of existence—and most were off their rockers—but it had been told by her to Sam and her sister she'd only married one man. There was a nasty situation and a divorce was filed but that was it. Melanie and Sam concluded a fight over bills or children had occurred. Sam, being the innovative one, presumed her father was an alcoholic of some sort with no job. As the ambiguity wore on Sam had thought up some disgustingly vicious theories about the breakup. Melanie's stomach twisted every time a new idea was created, which almost always ended with her crying or puking her discomfort out. Pam had never told Sam she was right nor tell her she was wrong. All they knew was that they'd never met their father and didn't want to.

It was hard to accept the notion this man before her was a relative. Her mother was edging upwards to fifty-years-young and this guy appeared only thirty-something. It was impossible he would've had any type of romance with her mom, someone much older. Nonetheless, he bore a daunting semblance to the Puckett twins: his hair was a curly blonde with traces of a darker shade, his attitude of impatience with the ability to remain calm was a mixing of the two girls' personalities, and those eyes…they were electric blue, popping against his skin, holding the same powerful gaze hers had when she was feeling fervent emotions of any kind. They were no doubt the same inside of her head. There was enough (too much) evidence to prove they did in fact share the same blood.

Sam's sense of truth was stifled by her dread of being this man's daughter. Her father was never there for her and then all of a sudden he came up by suits with guns aimed for their heads. She was never good in pressure situations at all, having been trained since birth that staying coolheaded gets you nowhere. The red-hot blood coursed through her veins with pulsing power and her feet were shaking with the urge to run.

As Vincent moved near her, her hand went to her pocket and withdrew the glistening blade. Faster than the blink of an eye she lunged the knife at him; a scream of pain sounded and redness seeped through the gray cloth of his suit. It wasn't deep enough for hospitalization, she knew, but stinging enough for a good distraction. Knife in hand, she escaped from the room at a speedy pace.

It didn't take long for everything to explode.

Not in the literal sense like hitherto, although it was as volatile as the earlier instance. The suited men and women abandoned their tasks to chase her down. Her sneakers smacked against the metal floor, squealing as if in pain. If Sam could she'd ditch them so they couldn't trail her but stopping was a no-no when being pursued. Her blade was still clenched in her hand, droplets of scarlet flying off. It nearly made her sick to see the blood—the blood of her heritage—dripping off it. She'd never used it to slice any flesh. Her intention was to use it for that in case of an emergency but the only "emergencies" it had qualified for were picking locks. She kept cringing when she thought she heard metallic clicking behind her; no bullets penetrated her body but if she looked over her shoulder she'd slow down...put two and two together, and she's back with that crackpot guy.

Sam rounded a corner and slammed against the wall, holding her much needed breath in. They ran straight past her in pursuit of someone not there. After counting back from ten, she panted, swallowing the air hungrily. She'd been chased by cops, bullies, and even a dog or two but this was different—this made her heart pound, her vision blur, and her lunch come upstairs. This was a real thing, a _real_ problem. It was her aspiration to blend in with life, do as she wished without trouble (or at least a small amount). That was crushed into the dust by the shoe of some cruel god.

"Sam!" a harried voice gasped, "Sam!" He was exhausted, the speaker, and young. Curiosity overcame her good sense and she peeked behind to see Freddie sprinting down the hallway. Apparently Lorenzo had disposed of him in the hunt for her, and he too attempted a getaway. The Shay siblings were not in sight but Sam just subconsciously prayed for their wellbeing as she stepped out from her hiding spot. She gestured for Freddie to look and spot her. As he changed direction her way, something zipped into the back of his neck. He gagged and shuddered before his eyes rolled into the back of his head, the red veins showing, and his body collapsed. Sam had no time to react to the ghastly happening before another zip came and she was thrust into black.

* * *

It took the dark from behind his eyelids a few seconds to disperse before Freddie could make out where he had ended up. The room was pure white, and again with no windows. Around him was nothing but a TV on the wall and a bed with a girl—unconscious—laying atop it. It didn't take a genius to realize she was Sam. She was so at peace in her reluctant slumber. However, evaluating her sleeping loveliness wasn't a main priority. He investigated the rest of the bare room: he was lying on a bed also, white sheets tucked tight under his body. It was uncomfortable in the taut position; he tried wriggling out, to no avail. His legs were very heavy and pulling them up was not an option. _Maybe they're still rather paralyzed from that tranquilizer dart,_ he mused. Freddie had concluded one of the men nearby had used a tranquilizer to prevent the two teens from escaping.

Again he searched around the room in hopes something of interest would pop up but it stayed the same as when he first blurrily blinked his eyes open. Bored, he began to ponder what his next move would be. He had been being led away somewhere with the tanned hands of Lorenzo squeezing his arms. Carly and Spencer were in front, also being taken elsewhere. He wasn't sure why Sam was chosen to stay or why they were being taken to separate rooms. Right then, all he could imagine was being shot and thrown into a dark chamber for no one to see him writhe or hear him scream.

Man, he needed to stop reading those spy thrillers.

His panicked thoughts were infiltrated by the yell of a man and wail of tennis shoes scraping linoleum. Soon enough Sam, blonde hair flying behind her, was seen racing down a hall. There was a suspicious object in her hand that appeared red but he demanded that his brain not think the word that the crimson surely was. When the man ditched him to get her, he took the chance to race after them. Both—along with others in between them—disappeared around a corner. Worriedly, he shouted out her name to see if she was caught. It was stupid, for she appeared, and they were both shot with darts, which ended up with the two partially paralyzed in a white hospital-like room.

The squeak of a door opening made him tense, and Freddie shut his eyes as not to seem awake. He did squint to see who had arrived and what they were doing, but the ridges of darkness around his eyesight made it tricky. He was able to make out the blonde man they'd met earlier with a lady dressed as a nurse following. They went first to Sam; upon finding her still unconscious (and alive, after a concerned checking of her pulse) they went to him. He closed his eyes completely, trying to steady his anxious breathing. Ice-cold fingers touched his wrist, and he gave an involuntary quiver.

"They're still knocked out." said a female voice.

"Hmm" was the man's response. His unsure tone made sweat begin to form on Freddie's brow. Looking asleep became increasingly harder with the suspense of the man's next words. He could feel the piercing blue eyes staring at his closed brown ones with brooding concentration. He resisted the urge to peek but it made his body tingle with anticipation.

"Mr. Highlander, what're you doing?" said the nurse. Her sudden outburst made Freddie freeze; what was the man—Mr. Highlander—going to do?

"We should put the tape in." he said in a calm manner, as though the distressed pitch with which she spoke didn't affect him.

"But they're asleep, sir." she said, "It'd be a waste of time to play it when they can't see—"

"Why don't we give it a shot, Margie?" Highlander replied quickly. The woman didn't speak again and Freddie was left waiting for her to do something until the door was heard shutting. Movement in front of him led the boy to quench his thirst for awareness, and he opened an eye: Highlander was inserting the VHS in the television set. After a moment of whizzes and button-pressing, he left the tape alone and departed too, but not without stealing a glance at the kids in bed.

Once the door closed again, Freddie opened both eyes to gaze at the screen of the TV. On it was a large, triangular building of a sort. It was centered in the midst of endless dunes of sand that were blown around by the hot breeze. Bright blue was the shade of the sky, and the twinkling sun reflected off the camera with a glare. It didn't take him long to recognize the building as an Egyptian pyramid. In front of it was a majestic animal, erected of the same aged bricks and cement of the tomb. It laid on its stomach and watched over the tourists and workers shuffling about with its human-like eyes. Freddie had seen this scene in many history books whilst studying ancient Egypt—this was the sphinx guarding King Tut's grave. It confused him why Highlander played a video with _that _on it. That is, until it happened.

In one swift second, the head of the sphinx was enveloped in smoke and a mushrooming cloud. Screams were heard softly sounding in the background as bits of thousand-year-old brick flew everywhere. The camera recording shook so much from the artificial earthquake that the scene was a haze of beige and blue. The clatter of crumbling rock was the only distinguishable thing from the video 'til it changed to the view of a woman in front of the rubble of a once famous monument. Holding a microphone to her lips, she spoke in an authorative manner "Marie Miyazawa reporting from Egypt. Moments ago the well-known shrine of Egyptian ruler Tutankhamun was blown to pieces by a mysterious explosion. Numerous individuals came vacationing here before the end of summer when the detonation occurred. Around ten were injured but none killed. Officials are investigating the ruins for anything that may've caused the explosion." The screen switched to a picture of Marie standing nearer to the rubble (actually on top of it) with a slim, African man in flannel clothing.

"I'm here with Abubakar Ibrahim, a worker here." Marie said. She turned to face the man and asked "What have you and your crew found?"

In a thick accent, Ibrahim responded "We're still looking through the rubble for anything but we've found some small metal pieces along with wires. We're guessing it was a bomb that dismantled in the explosion." All of a sudden, the bright scene of Egypt changed to a dark room much like the one they'd been in earlier. Sitting there was the same man from previously too. Freddie thought he looked much more menacing from the camera's angle, it catching the shadows under his eyes so he looked quite ferocious.

"Abubakar Ibrahim and his team were able to scrounge up a large amount of metal scraps at the site," he said, clearly and slowly, "They sent it to the American Embassy to scrutinize it. With careful precision, we were able to reconstruct it and found it was originally a detonator that latched onto the surface of the sphinx. A terrorist attack upon the country of Egypt made headlines in almost every country but ours. Why?" He leaned forward in his chair, his nose inching close to the lens. "Because secrecy is a key factor to surviving. If we made it big news, we'd be a likely target. So we laid low. Months later, everything was calm again…until another bombing occurred in Russia's Red Square. Again America kept its lips zipped about the incidence. So far, you either think we're idiots or evil." Freddie shivered at the words, for that was exactly what he was thinking.

The man leaned back in his chair and folded his hands behind his head. "It's been going on for awhile and we here have been working since the sphinx attack to find these people and make them pay. Considering they are bombing more than one country, we've hypothesized they're out for more than revenge. Possibly world domination. If you're watching this, you're bewildered, I can tell. But you have to understand that you're with her—or _are_ her—so you're in this. If you're a comrade, get ready to serve your fellow man. We'll explain more later and give you your vital supplies. If you're the one…" His eyes misted over and he looked away from the camera, appearing—for the first time—like a human being and not a robot. "Well, then…" he said with a sigh, "Good luck." At that sentence, the TV faded black.

**Whoa, long one! LOL It's a relief to get this chap off my chest. It takes me awhile because I have to rewrite it originally in case I want to make it an original work. Anyway, please review so I can hear your feedback.**


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